


A Sickness named Hyde

by okapi



Category: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Anal Sex, Blackmail, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining dealt with in the worst way, Underage Prostitution, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 20:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Utterson is drawn to and repulsed by Edward Hyde.Warning: two incidents of underage prostitution.





	A Sickness named Hyde

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2019 DW Corsets and Lemons kink meme: _When you think you're being seduced by your old friend's nasty younger boyfriend but it turns out your friend has had a thing for you since forever and found the weirdest way to act on it. Bonus points if Utterson is a damned sight more morally constrained than Henry Jekyll and feels rotten about the whole thing._

Utterson’s heart was heavy. Now that his vigilance had been repaid and he'd seen Edward Hyde’s face, he was certain that his old friend Harry Jekyll was in deep waters.

Utterson recalled the end of his conversation with Hyde at the door of the dissecting rooms.

_‘Common friends? Who are they?’_

_‘Jekyll, for instance.’_

_‘He never told you. I did not think you would have lied.’_

_‘Come, that is not fitting language.’_

Hyde had laughed savagely, looked in Utterson’s direction, inquired the address of Utterson’s tailor, then disappeared into the house.

The look. The look that fiend had bestowed upon Utterson! It made his blood freeze in his veins.

There were many ways in which a man could ‘go down’ in life, and as Utterson was often the last reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of down-going men, he was familiar with such ways and their varied manifestations and prevailing characteristics.

Hyde’s look was one of undisguised carnality, and the question about the tailor’s address was the sort of remark that in certain quarters, quarters that Utterson knew of but did not frequent, would have been interpreted as compliment and invitation.

One glance, of solicitor to fiend, had disproved Utterson’s first suspicion: that Hyde was Jekyll’s illegitimate son. One glance, of fiend to solicitor, had confirmed Utterson’s next suspicion: that Hyde was Jekyll’s lover.

Utterson shivered. It turned him cold to think of Hyde stealing like a thief to Jekyll’s bedside, and his conversation with Jekyll a fortnight later did nothing to alter his concern for his friend.

Yes, Jekyll had said ‘it isn’t what you fancy; it is not as bad as that’ but he’d also said ‘I do sincerely take a great, a very great interest in that young man.’

Whenever Utterson considered his friend’s quagmire he heaved an irrepressible sigh, but a fortnight after Jekyll’s dinner party, he heaved two: one for Harry Jekyll and one for himself, Gabriel John Utterson, for being caught like a lost kitten in so violent a storm.

There were very few persons about in the street. Indeed, it seemed the deluge was washing the streets clean of passengers and pedestrians alike.

Utterson was hurrying home along one of these deserted streets, his umbrella proving a poor shield against nature’s wrath. By chance, he stepped into an alley, the better to avoid being inundated by the wall of water being throw up by the wheels of a heavy cart and an equally stately carriage.

He heard grunting, and there, like a nightmare apparition, was Edward Hyde, his back against a wall, his lower half concealed by the bobbing head and hunched torso of a person kneeling before him.

Utterson stood perfectly still and stared.

Hyde turned his head towards Utterson. At once, his eyes lit with a dark reptilian glint, and his lips curled into a most loathsome grin.

“We’ve company,” he said to his companion, “but I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life if you stop.”

With one hand, Hyde brandished a stick, which Utterson’s recognised, with abject horror, as one he’d gifted Harry Jekyll some years prior.

How dare he!

Utterson’s blood boiled. “You’ll do nothing of the sort!” he cried. He seized the stick with one hand and wrenched the youth to his feet with the other. He dropped the stick and pressed a coin to the lad’s palm.

“Go!” he ordered.

When the young man had fled, Utterson turned on Hyde.

Hyde’s face was a grotesque mask, and Utterson was shocked to see he’d done nothing to cover himself.

“Oh, yes, my dear Gabriel, please finish what a much lesser mouth’s commenced!”

The use of his Christian name made bile rise in Utterson’s throat; but it caught in a solid lump mid-trajectory when Utterson’s eyes dropped to just below Hyde’s waist.

Hyde laughed a long, loud, disgusting laugh while he gripped himself and bounced.

He was still laughing when Utterson threw himself back into the storm, and the horrible, mirthless sound echoed in the cavern of Utterson’s skull, resembling nothing so much as a vengeful spectre pursuing him at full tilt the rest of the journey home.

Utterson called upon every ounce of will within him to feign normalcy when he crossed his threshold and was fortunate to have the storm as scapegoat for any observed irregularities in mood or routine.

He retired early, only to toss to and fro in the darkness.

Hyde was assuredly not deserving of Jekyll’s ‘very great interest.’ Such a beast could only bring a man like Jekyll disgrace.

And how in heavens could relations between Hyde and Jekyll not be what Utterson fancied? How could it not be ‘as bad as that’!

It was far worse!

But.

But Utterson, with his tolerance of others and his inclination to ‘let his brother go to the devil in his own way,’ entertained another, novel possibility of just what had attracted Harry Jekyll to so repulsive a young man as Edward Hyde.

Utterson closed his eyes.

Hyde’s prick was, if truth be told and with himself Utterson strived always to be truthful, magnificent.

Large, thick, perfect, really, if one was inclined to appreciate such things.

Utterson reconsidered Jekyll’s will. Was such a prick worth signing over an entire kingdom? The madness of it almost made Utterson laugh aloud in his great, dark bed.

But.

But Utterson’s mouth watered of its own accord at the memory of Hyde’s prick. He would never drop to his knees in a filthy alley in a torrential storm and service so contemptible man, no matter how magnificent his sex.

But.

But he might draw the bedclothes over his head and think of such things. Of such things like a magnificent prick spreading his lips, filling his mouth, pressing against his tongue, brushing the back of his throat again and again…

No!

Utterson sat up.

Hyde was a disgusting human being, nay, a disgusting creature, and even if he weren’t, he was, by some bizarre turn of events, of ‘very great interest’ to one of Utterson’s oldest friends!

Utterson vowed to banish Hyde from his thoughts and, to that end, he rose, poured himself a glass of gin, and took down a volume entitled Early Christian Sermons. He read and drank until sleep bid him return to bed and vowed to blame the morning’s inevitable sluggishness on a savage ague. For he was sick, truly sick, and his sickness was named Hyde.

The next morning, Utterson threw himself in a regimen of private austerity, which he kept without breech, or thought of Hyde, for four weeks. Part of this practise was ‘custody of the senses,’ perhaps best described as the opposite of keen observation, as he went about his usual routine.

But this habit was perhaps ill-advised, for it contributed to a circumstance which greatly disturbed Utterson. One evening upon return from his chambers, he was surprised to find a note in his pocket, a note which he himself had not put there.

A shudder went through Utterson as he read it, and he hastened to destroy the scrap in the nearest fire before any servant was the wiser.

In an oddly slanted hand there had an hour, a date, a pair of streets, and a name.

Hyde.

Hyde desired an assignation with Utterson! Well, he was destined to be disappointed. Utterson had no intention of keeping such an appointment.

Then a rogue question struck Utterson. If Hyde happened to appear at Utterson’s place of work, what would must Utterson’s response be?

Utterson prayed he would never be put to the test.

As it turned out, Utterson was spared the appearance of Hyde in person at his chambers; nevertheless, the fiend soon made his discomforting presence known in those revered quarters.

* * *

“Matthews!”

Utterson could not believe the transformation in his client. Richard Matthews was a premier financier; he held a prominent position in the Bank of England. He had always cut a striking figure; the person who sat before Utterson in his chambers was a shadow of his former self.

Once their privacy was assured, Matthews leaned forward and put his hands on the edge of the stately desk.

“My dear man!” he said with soft, trembling voice. “I am ruined!”

Utterson wore the marble expression of professional courtesy and concern. “Tell me of it, and I may be able to help.”

“I’m in the hands of a most ruthless blackmailer.”

This seemed incredible of a man like Matthews, but Utterson took care not to show any signs of incredulity.

“Begin at the beginning, Matthews.”

Matthews nodded and sat back in his chair. “My path happened to cross that of a young man, I won’t say where, but this young man both repulsed and intrigued me. He entertained me in his Soho residence.”

Utterson was immediately on guard at the mention of ‘repulsed’ and ‘Soho.’

“Someone saw you with him?” asked Utterson

“No, his landlady was absent, and I was,” Matthews coughed, “somewhat disguised. After our first, or rather second meeting, I desired to see more of him. So much so that I invited him to my house. Only twice and only on nights when none of the servants but little Rosie, sweet, dreaming girl that she is, was in.”

Utterson was not to know it yet, but the sweet, dreaming Rosie was to play a significant role in a later act of the drama. For now, he asked,

“And what is the threat?”

“He will ruin me. He will make known to everyone I hold in esteem, a certain document.”

“Document?” echoed Utterson. Had this man, like Harry Jekyll, taken leave of his sense and signed his fortune or, given his position, the fortunes of entrusted to him, over to a rogue?

Matthews trembled, and the rest of his story was told in a kind of whispered croak, so low that Utterson had to lean forward to hear properly.

“He bid me take drink on both of our meetings at my residence.”

This was surprising. Matthews was a known teetotaler.

“I abstain from spirits not on any moral grounds, Utterson, but simply because my constitution is so ill-suited to it. Nevertheless, with him, I was persuaded to partake of no little amount of brandy. May I be, well, a bit crude?”

Utterson sniffed, then inclined his head. “If it is relevant.”

“He is an odd person. His features are hideous, save the one which is best guarded which is,” Matthews sighed, “magnificent.”

Utterson bit the inside of his cheek to keep from starting in his seat.

“And his tongue,” went on Matthews. “He is so very skilled in, uh, painting a back door that even now it makes me weak to think of how he applied himself to my person. I know you will not judge me, Utterson, for these weaknesses of mine.”

“His name?” asked Utterson, though he knew it already.

“Hyde.”

Utterson nodded. “And he threatens to expose you with a document?”

“It was a game we played on our last meeting. He desired that I, well, that I describe in writing and in some detail the acts which I wished him to perform upon me. He bid me sign it and add the impression of my ring.” Matthews worried the signet on his pale finger.

“That was most ill-advised, my dear man,” said Utterson, hating himself for succumbing to the tiresome indulgence of stating the obvious.

“Drink!” cried Matthews. “Drink and that brute’s savage prick and his courtesan’s tongue! Oh, Utterson! You are my last recourse before I put a bullet through my temple.”

“How much does he want?”

“One hundred pounds by Friday.” Matthews went on to speak the hour and the two streets that had been written in Hyde’s scrawl on the note he’d surreptitiously shoved into Utterson’s great coat pocket.

One hundred pounds was a pittance to a man like Matthews.

Utterson said, “I fear it will not be the only demand upon you.” In fact, Utterson was certain that Hyde would bleed poor Matthews dry. “Have you any relations abroad? Exile might be the best route.”

Matthews shook his head. “I have a sense, a fleeting sense, to be sure, that there may be something noble in Hyde. Well-hidden, naturally, in the depravity.” He took a deep breath and drew himself up. “I will pay. Once. And if he returns to the well, he will find the waters unfit for consumption.”

Utterson was in a wretched humour the rest of the day.

Hyde!

The following day, Thursday, was thick with fog, but Utterson cut his way through the pea-soup like an intrepid explorer through an uncharted jungle.

It was the hour and the place appointed, indeed, or so it seemed, favoured by Edward Hyde, and Utterson, having at least one incident of reference for the fiend’s habits, made short work of finding the near-hidden alley which he presumed, correctly, to be the rendezvous point.

The entrance was narrow, and Utterson was forced to walk some paces from the street before he came upon them.

Hyde and another wretch.

Hyde’s back was to Utterson this time and his trousers and undergarments were down. He was thrusting unceremoniously.

Utterson drank in the movement of Hyde’s buttocks and thighs, the clench and release of sinewy muscle. His ogling was interrupted by Hyde looking over his shoulder and cackling.

“Late, my archangel, but it’s your loss. This could’ve been you.”

Utterson winced at the stifled whimper that resulted from Hyde’s savage thrust, then, on behalf of Jekyll and Matthews and every other unfortunate person who’d come within Hyde’s reach, he felt his rage rise.

Hyde quickly defused any outburst on Utterson’s part, however.

“No, no. Watch. Watch until the end, and I promise to release your fool of a money-man from his shackles.”

Utterson watched. And though by grave mortifications he was successful in banishing thoughts of Hyde by day, for many nights to come he would dream of that magnificent prick disappearing again and again into a tight hole. In his dream, the feral grunts of the fiend Hyde sounded in his ear like an orchestra. Sometimes it was Utterson’s own hole breeched, and somehow, by that split alchemy of dreams, he was able to feel and witness the breeching at once. Sometimes he was, as in the alley, watching Hyde breech another. Regardless, he woke spent and ashamed.

Utterson’s only consolation lay in a message he received late Friday, the day following his encounter with Hyde in the alley— _All resolved to satisfaction. Matthews_ —and in the news that, on doctor’s orders, the financier was taking himself to the south of France for a respite of indefinite duration. No scandal ensued.

Months passed, and Utterson was beginning to feel himself again when once more a note in that sinister hand found its way into his pocket. The address, date, and hour were different and there was the addition of a cryptic comment ‘ask for muniments room’ but the sender was the same.

Utterson burnt it and ignored it as he had the other.

* * *

The date came and went without a ripple in Utterson’s world.

He had been anticipating news of Hyde from one of his clients, as had occurred in the Matthews case, but he was caught off guard. He had not anticipated hearing the name of Hyde uttered by Sir Danvers Carew when he and Utterson were enjoying a particularly fine port in Carew’s gun room after a handsome dinner.

“You mayn’t tell a soul, Utterson, professional discretion and all that,” said the old gentleman who had such old word kindness of disposition that Utterson could scarcely credit his ears for hearing what came next from his host’s lips, “but I’ve found a partner of singularly compatible nature and am indulging myself, quite possibly into the grave, with him.”

“Where did you come by such an acquaintance?” asked Utterson with politeness, hitherto his attention, quite frankly, had been more on the port than his companion.

Carew twisted his lips. “There is a place, a library, in fact, but if you ask at the desk for the ‘muniments room,’ well, you are escorted to a door which leads to a kind of bath establishment.”

The word ‘muniments’ struck Utterson like a blow to the chest, but his expression remained a mask.

“What kind of indulgence?” he asked, fearing the worst.

“The usual kind, but with a decidedly disciplinary quality.” Carew exhaled and smiled. “My friend is a singular fellow, pretty foul all things considered, except when we have our bit of play. Sometimes, I find myself loathing him, but I always return for more. I do believe he is the wickedest creature I’ve ever met.”

“Bit of play,” repeated Utterson. “Like hide-and-seek?”

Carew laughed heartily and slapped his knee. “Just so!”

“But, Carew, is it wise? You put yourself in this fellow’s power!”

“Oh, it’s all right, Utterson. You worry too much.”

“Carew, as your friend and solicitor, I beg you to uncouple yourself from this man. No good will come of it.”

“You will spoil the port, Utterson, with your sourness. Now, on other matters…”

Utterson’s dreams of Hyde lost their erotic quality and became full-blooded nightmares.

Corridors lined with books which led to chambers of hellish perversity.

Hyde mounting him. Hyde beating him.

Hyde, Hyde, Hyde.

Orgies of violence, infernal cries, unheeded pleas.

Morning after morning, Utterson woke drenched in sweat until he was contemplating a Continental holiday or a commitment to an asylum for himself.

But he had not long to suffer, for but a week after his conversation with Carew, Utterson was reading the old gentleman’s final words, the letter that had been found on Carew’s murdered body.

_Dearest Utterson,_

_I’ve decided that your advice of late was sound. I will attempt to attend to the matter myself but, if I fail, may call upon your chambers tomorrow for guidance._

_Carew_

Never again would the image of Hyde plague Utterson’s sleep.

* * *

 _A postscript to my confession for you alone, Utterson, to throw into the fire._  
  
For as long as I have known you, old friend, I have held you the highest regard, a regard that I daresay was mutual until moments ago. But it was not just regard. It was also base desire. Such baseness surfaced and made itself plainly known in Edward Hyde. Hyde looked at you as I had longed to look at you, propositioned you as I longed to proposition you, put his frank sexuality in front of you, forcing you to gaze upon it as I had always wanted. Hyde satisfied his wild appetites with poor strangers as well as members of society as respected as the upright Gabriel John Utterson. He corrupted as many as might be corrupted the better to lure you into his bed.  
  
He failed at that blatant aim, failed as surely as Harry Jekyll would have.  
  
But I still guard a tiny hope that at some point in this tragedy Hyde was in your thoughts in some other form than fiend. Did you ever think of his as lover, old friend? I will go to my end thinking it was so for a moment, but perhaps no more than one.  
  
I am sorry, old friend, for what I have done and for my carelessness with life and friendship but I am yours, my dear man, yours, yours, yours, ever,  
  
Harry  
  
Utterson read the postscript thrice before tossing it in the fire. He eventually returned to his old life and his old ways with two exceptions. He never again wondered with the slightest envy at the high pressure of spirits involved in others’ misdeeds and not once, for the rest of his days, did he permit a drop of wine, vintage or otherwise, to cross his lips.


End file.
